Not my Father's Son
by drakonlily
Summary: Rufus loved Midgar like most men loved women. His father loved nothing at all...


AN: This was written as a backup gift for the Live Journal community called "ff_exchange". I really enjoyed the way that it turned out, so here it goes.

* * *

Not my Father's Son

By Drakonlily

_for FF Exchange_

_As he cries out to the heavens_

There was something about his city that brought Rufus real joy. He used to find his way to the very top of the ShinRa building and look down. The wind would whip up at his face and leave his blond hair tangled and his pale skin ruddy. Midgar looked as though a great god had taken the stars and thrown them to Gaia just for Rufus' pleasure.

He imagined in those early years of his life, that he knew exactly how princes of Wutai felt when they looked over their country. As the Kisaragis were descendants of the god Leviathan, Rufus was the descendant of Alexander. Midgar was destined to belong to him alone.

His father, Amon ShinRa was fat, decadent, and completely unworthy of the gift that was Midgar. There was no way the man's piggish blue eyes could see and appreciate The City the way that Rufus did. Rufus loved Migar the way that most men loved women; he appreciated its curves and its raw angles.

Amon was incapable of loving anything. He'd chosen a wife because she was pretty and that is what rich men did. She produced a beautiful son for him, and then she was gone. Amon's world was very temporary, ridiculously so.

It was unworthy of Midgar.

Amon's glass of whiskey was blue label, surrounded by gold the same way that the ShinRa logo was encased in a white diamond. He explained, over and over again, that a good drink, a soft smile, and a strong cigar were the finer things of life. That as long as the papers were properly pushed and as long as the prices were right, demand and supply would fuel an empire.

It was disgustingly passive and lacked all passion, Rufus thought, his fingers looped about the trigger of his heavy black gun. The smells of the firing rage were real and the room felt heavy and immovable. He was an adult now, and there was the need to feel something. Weaker people would cause themselves pain, or others pain to have something that boarded emotions. Rufus was not such a person. He would make the world move to his whims, even while his father sipped expensive booze in an office.

Amon appeared in the firing range in his usual fashion. "There you are. We have Turks for that." Amon's voice was never drunk. He wasn't the sort of man to go to any extreme. He was too weak for drunkenness.

Rufus fired in fast succession. "Where" shot "else" shot "would" shot "I" shot "be?" the last two rounds of the clip drowned his father out twice.

"Doing something useful. You're too old for tantrums, Rufus." The ice was melting in his glass; it clanked in soft contrast to the handgun's explosions.

"You're too old to tell me what to do, I would assume then." Rufus spun, he was trying a new hair stylist, and wasn't so sure about the bang that flipped into his eyes.

"I found out about AVALANCHE." Amon said it as though he had found a dirty magazine under his son's bed.

Rufus' brain immediately switched gears to thinking who had ratted him out. The Turks were loyal to him, Tseng and Veld held enough sway and as long as Rufus had those two under something resembling control then he had the Turks. Rufus was not foolish enough to expect blind loyalty. Veld, happily 'dead' and retired would not have turned on him. Tseng's loyalties were unflappable. No, it was not a Turk who let the information go. Maybe one of Elfe's people was captured and talked. That answer satisfied Rufus' need for logic and his mouth turned into a distasteful sneer. "I'm rather surprised you managed that."

"That's treason, son." Amon, when threatening, measured his words and balanced them so that a few could carry a heavy meaning. He liked to think that threat not spoken meant more. He was correct in practice.

Rufus, however, enjoyed taking risks. "No, it was attempted assassination, to be perfectly honest."

He enjoyed the look of shock on Amon's face. For a moment his eyes were wide and his cheek pulled in. "Most people are not stupid enough to be that honest, son." Amon took a sip of the whiskey. It wasn't that Amon was surprised at the admission. Rufus was all brutal honesty and crisp edges.

"When I am president, I will say whatever I want. People will know my word is law."

When Amon smiled, Rufus was taken aback. "Come to my office, son."

The elder and younger ShinRa walked in silence to Amon's massive office. Amon was not going to chastise Rufus for his hatred. Rufus was not going to attempt his father to make a show of emotion. It wasn't that they hated each other. Between them, there was nothing but air.

After the large doors of his office closed, Amon slid behind his desk with something that almost resembled grace. He flopped an envelope on the desk in front of him. "You will never have Midgar, Rufus. I'm going to find the Promised Land."

The proclamation made Rufus start. He yanked the folder off the table and began reading. Before him was something akin to blasphemy. How could some… grove of trees, no, more a graveyard of people who turned into trees when they passed, be greater than Midgar? The thought was preposterous. Midgar was the Promised Land it was real, no fairytale, not absurd promise of immortality. What did actions matter if one had forever to make them? What… "idiot." Rufus threw the files to the ground and whipped the gun from the holster. "How dare you? This … what are you trying to do old man?"

The glass of whiskey tipped up to Rufus and Amon laughed. "The greatest paradise on Gaia."

"Is where we are standing." Rufus pulled the trigger, but there was a click from the empty chamber. Without a word, Rufus tossed the gun to the carpet and turned on heel to walk out.

Amon looked at the rest of his whiskey. With a sigh, he cast the liquid into the fire.

Rufus slammed the door behind him.

_I am not my father's son_


End file.
